September's Field Observation Notes: Final Entry
by HeartandImagination
Summary: Spoilers for 5.01 promos and speculation: September does more than Observe on the day of the Purge. He records his thoughts in his notebook.


_I've not been much for fiction lately, but after some Twitter role-play, I decided to write a little fic from an Observer POV. And here we are. _

_Spoilers from promos for 5.01._

September's Field Observations and Notes: Final Entry

Although the previous entries transcribed in this journal have been written in the language of the future, for this installment, I choose to write in the more primitive structure known as "English." I may have to answer for many deeds at some point in time, in fact, I am certain this will be the case. Until my entire notebook is translated for posterity, a quick account of what may be my final actions is in order. Actions… Whatever happened to just observing…?

This day started like any other; at least those that I choose to "naturally" experience. I arose from my restorative slumber, partook in some nourishment, and donned my ever-crisp fedora before stepping outside; all the while making certain that my misguided associates could not determine my location. Like the Fringe team, I have learned the value in skirting the normal protocols of the institutions to which I am bound.

Today, is momentous, even though I'd much rather not be interfering. The time for passivity has long expired. Currently, I am sitting quietly on a worn park bench, my senses fully aware and vigilant of my surroundings, even as I write.

I am prepared to do the one thing that I am fairly confident is the only action capable of breaking my heart; breaking Peter Bishop's.

It was difficult enough to tell the young man about the cost of a choice that he had made for the love of his Olivia Dunham. Peter's decision to save both universes unwittingly cost him a son. Yet, "Henry" was not supposed to be born. No matter what, it has always been made clear that Olivia was to cross over, and meet Peter; they would become mates and have a child together. This was the only acceptable outcome.

Peter is a man of great strength. When he was just a small and vulnerable child—not more than a baby—I idly stood by as he endured a wasting disease of great physical cruelty; one that has an origin known to my kind; one that Peter will find the truth about someday, if this book falls into the hands of the person that it is meant for. The man has always bottled up his emotions, but I could read him.

Peter almost buckled when I told him the outcome of his actions. His breath seemed stolen, and his eyes went wide in disbelief—jaw agape. A man shattered with just too much to bear. This was my closest moment to shedding a tear.

I am changing… and have been for a long time. I have come to not view Walter Bishop or his son as mere historical figures. The boy is important still, even if my colleagues were determined to remove him from an equation.

Because they showed me love—the kind of innocent love that a child needs—and Olivia… Olivia Dunham has a heart of gold. Through my careful watch of the Bishop men, I have become beguiled—thought impossible for my kind—by Olivia Dunham's perseverance, tenacity, and honor. I know that she has suffered greatly as well. Her Cortexiphan enhanced abilities, now infused in her genetic makeup—are nothing compared to the depth of her genuine love. Her love is her greatest gift and she guards it tightly. From fear of looking weak or looking vulnerable. Much like an Observer.

Today… there is going to be a slaughter like no other. No longer do I have the luxury of being on the sidelines. I must steel myself, because I am the best hope for their precious young daughter. If my kind discovers what she is truly capable of, then there is no hope for her. Their attempts at achieving a better future by invading the past are a detriment to the very people that we arose from.

I have planned a different potential outcome many times, starting with making sure that Peter was raised in this current universe. And now that I have all of the pieces lined up just the way they need to be, it is so damned difficult to knock the first domino over… Pieces can always act in an unpredictable manner: No one knows this better than I do. But I've never been so close to setting up the right path for humanity. It is always darkest before the dawn.

I have no doubt that Peter and Olivia will physically survive… and I'd like to say that ultimately it is of no consequence if they do not endure the emotional duress; this being part of my Observer nature. However, I have witnessed what people of these times refer to as a "miracle." Several of these events that defy known science and/or logic have occurred with me present to marvel at them. The sheer instatistical, unquantifiable power of love is a gift; one that in the future, humanity foolishly discarded from ignorance and fear. Love is the answer, and the very key to the universe. I am banking on the Bishop/Dunham propensity to cross the line in order to not only save those that they love—but to forgive and find their way back to each other.

I see them now, relaxing and enjoying a day together in the summer sun. The grass is green and the field is spotted with dandelions. Young Etta has picked one up, and with the nature and curiosity of a small child, she delights as they blow away into the sky from the force of the breath of her small lungs. I remember that I once watched Dr. Bishop smile as young Peter did the same.

Sadly, I know those little lungs will used to yell for her Daddy and cry for her Mommy, because They are coming soon. I cannot stop them from their overall objective, but they will not take this wondrous child and use her for their own ends like was done to her valiant mother.

I hope that my tale has what they refer to as a fairytale ending. It is… a possibility. But for now, all I can do is to remember telling a stunned and questioning Peter years ago that, "It must be difficult, being a father."

I never wanted to be the reason… If there is one truth about love, then there is another in its sister, "forgiveness." I can only explain myself, and perhaps maybe I too will receive the gift of a "white tulip."


End file.
